User blog comment:Bartholomew Bilberry Bowstring/The First of Many/@comment-26024035-20160425040834

The golden sun beat down upon the Northeast as the Army of the Moss sought shade beneath the healthy green leaves of the woodland that surrounded the lower half of what was known as the Gorge. The fortress was a symbol of oppression in that side of the world, and with the intention of testing the strength and skill of their army, the leaders- Shelran, Eldoran, Lord Alistair, and others- decided that they would take it, and topple at least one tyrant before the long, hot Summer season was out. The camping troops drank from freshly-filled canteens and ate whatever fish they could catch and fruit, berries and roots they could scavenge, whilst Shelran, sitting with the leaders and several of the newer recruits they had judged more skillful than the others, discussed the upcoming assault.

Shelran, a big, friendly otter covered in tattoos and bearing a broad scimitar in his belt, pointed at a section of the map that lay before them. Lord Alistair, being the Scoutmaster, had pieced an idea of their target together from whatever scraps of information his scouts had relayed, drawing the map out on a large chunk of skinned bark. "Th' wooden gates, 'ere? They need t' be burned. Lord Alistair'll be leadin' th' main assault upon 'em wid six others an' yew, yew, an' yew. Yew, Fallig, will be carrying the fish oil needed t' keep th' fire goin', so don't drop it. Falkin- yew, bein' a strong-lookin' squirrel an' assumably a good climber, y'll 'ave one o' th' more innerestin' gigs... We'll need yew, Elmseye, an' Rissah t' open th' smaller gate, near this "Runksneer"'s inner keep. Thirty of our fighters- archers, javelin-throwers 'n' slingbeasts- be joinin' you in th' takin' th' ramparts near these gates."